


playful death threats

by RedHorse



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: A disproportionate number of breakfast scenes, Alpha Peter Parker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Tony Stark, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Tony Stark, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Top Peter Parker, fairly rough oral sex at that, peter is 19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Peter dropped his head into his hands and moaned. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I knocked you up.”“In your defense, you did ask about protection.”Peter looked at Tony through a gap in his fingers. The tips of his ears were red.“And then you said if I didn’t start fucking you, you’d have me killed.”





	playful death threats

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat) in the [TomarryFlashExchanges](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TomarryFlashExchanges) collection. 

> I just updated the posting date because author reveals for the Problematic Ship Flash Fest were today. If you've seen this once already, sorry! Be sure to check out the other works in the collection. They're amazing!
> 
> Written for this prompt from wynnebat:
> 
> Optional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega DynamicsPeter Parker/Tony Stark Summary  
Omega Tony/Alpha Peter, pregnancy fluff or smut

“Well,” Bruce said, drawing out the vowel. He was standing close to the machine he’d just been reading. He had one arm wrapped around his torso and his other hand cupped over his mouth. He was always doing strange, deflective things with his posture. “So. You’re pregnant.”

From the cushioned examination chair, Tony glared at him so hard the little stabbing pains in his forehead intensified. “Funny. Hilarious.” 

Bruce shook his head infinitesimally, and his hand fell away to reveal a frown. “Not joking. I’m sure of it. I performed the test twice, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. did a quick analysis of your oxygen saturation so we could rule out the m-o-dev.”

Tony snorted. “Don’t drag my poor AI into your pathetic ruse, Banner,” he said, and then his nausea made him twist onto his side and pull his knees to his chest. The fetal position. That’s what he was reduced to. He had clearly contracted a fatal illness and Bruce was standing over there making jokes.

“I also analyzed your blood sugar for glucose tolerance during your last meal,” the AI chimed in. “I’m happy to report that you do not suffer from gestational diabetes.”

“Babies can give you diabetes?” Tony exclaimed on impulse. Then the implications of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s aside made his miserable stomach turn over again, but this time with dread. He’d programmed her to be incapable of making jokes at Tony’s expense, a sacred duty he considered his own, Rhodey’s, and increasingly, Banner’s. 

It must be true. The parasite making him feel like he’d drunk bad water somewhere was—_a baby._

Tony gave in to the powerful urge he’d been fighting for the past five minutes and threw up into the little metal pail that Bruce had helpfully positioned on the nightstand. 

*

“But who’s the other father?” Pepper asked, giving him worried looks over the rim of the coffee cup she’d been turning mindlessly in her hands throughout their breaking-the-news-gently breakfast.

_Sometimes_ he hated being an omega. _Usually_ he didn’t think about it at all. In fact he had put the self-loathing thoroughly behind him for at least a decade, or so he’d thought. Now he may as well be going through puberty a second time, he felt so maladjusted to his own skin.

“And aren’t you too old?” she added. It would have sounded cruel coming from anyone but Pepper. Instead it was just endearing. Like everything about her, endearing. Her little worried smile, and the strands of hair she absently tucked behind her ear. She was perfect—except, now, she smelled hideous. It was the pheromone equivalent of sniffing milk that had gone bad. He took a moment, as a scientist, to remember with interest when that same scent had struck him in another way entirely. The scent hadn’t changed, but apparently all Tony’s internal receptors had. 

“Well, I’m very well-preserved,” Tony said brightly, trying not to look at the eggs congealing on his plate. He was never eating eggs again. 

“Tony,” Pepper said carefully and with naked fondness. “This is all going to be fine.” 

She smelled repulsive but the calm, earnest look on her beautiful face still made all Tony’s faulty omega wiring spark confusingly. He’d always loved a gentle alpha. 

That’s why he hadn’t stopped his nineteen-year-old intern from fucking him over the back of the sofa in the lab.

* 

Rhodey showed up the next day. When he came in, Tony was still huddling under a blanket in his bed, poking at a few random gears he’d been assembling into the metallic version of paper cranes.

Rhodey noticed and scowled. “I thought we agreed, no sautering in bed, you absolute reckless . . . ” Rhodey snatched the still-warm tool from Tony’s nest while Tony rolled his eyes.

“My sheets are obviously flame-retardant.” 

Rhodey ignored him, of course. He set the stuff on the nightstand and looked at Tony so pityingly, Tony could absolutely not meet his eye.

“So, did you decide what you’re going to do?” 

“Pretend it’s Pepper’s.”

“Oh, I’m sure the media will enjoy learning she has the necessary equipment.” 

”Yeah, not my best plan.” 

“When are you going to tell the other father?”

“Well, I’m _never_telling him, obviously.”

“Tony.”

“You know what alphas are like when they knock you up. First they cry, then they marry you out of obligation and breathe down your neck for the rest of your life. Can’t have that. I need my personal space.”

He wasn’t going to make an actual kid be a father to a kid. That would be inhumane to both kids and also to Tony, whose ego could not tolerate an alpha pup making sad eyes at him, followed by socially-mandated proposals. Just the idea of it . . . well, it made the omega part of Tony practically purr, but that was just biology.

“I see. Well, I won’t force the issue.”

Tony considered telling him. _It’s Peter Parker._ The intern that Rhodey had met, then immediately told Tony sternly to ‘watch himself.’ Tony had been sincerely surprised that Rhodey thought Tony would dare. Even though ‘dramatically younger’ and ‘Tony’s employee’ had never stopped Tony before, combining those warning labels into one person was new.

But then, the kid smelled like honey and lilacs, clean and sweet as the synthetic stuff that had been one of Tony’s first personal inventions back when all he thought about was sex. 

Peter made him feel twenty again, confused and lust-driven.

And the past few days, when Tony wasn’t crippled by nausea, he was constantly, inconveniently turned on. He’d revisited the memory of Peter giving it to him so many times now he suspected he’d embellished it. Peter, so lean and yet so fucking strong, one firm hand on the back of Tony’s neck, holding him down gently but insistently.

His soft voice as he lined up. _Mr. Stark, oh my God._

It had made Tony smile, that reverent voice. And then, the choked murmur as he pushed in, _Fuck, you feel amazing. I can’t . . . Mr. Stark, is this okay? I don’t . . . oh, I . . . I don’t know if I can stop._

“What are you thinking right now?”

Tony was smiling stupidly, he realized, staring at the wall and thinking of an alpha. Mooning like he was some kind of teenager; mooning like he hadn’t since before the alpha he was mooning over had even been born.

“Where’s that pail?” he demanded in a strangled voice. 

*

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. How he’ll take it? It’ll be fine.”

“How would you know?” Tony asked irritably. “He could be one of those alphas that wants you permanently barefoot and pregnant. Or, oh this would be fun, one who thinks exposure to technology can scramble a baby’s developing brain. Maybe he’ll send me to one of those pregnant omega camps in central Florida.” 

“Peter?” Rhodey snorted. “Hardly.”

Tony felt his jaw drop. “You _know_?”

“Of course. Your baby smells like him.”

“_You can smell_ . . . ?” Every time Tony thought he understood alphas fairly well, he learned a new gross fact. 

Rhodey shrugged. Tony, feeling suddenly anxious, stared him hard in the eye. “You don’t think it’s . . . predatory?”

Rhodey grinned. “Aw, Tony. Are you afraid they’ll call you an old cougar?”

“Aren’t I?”

Rhodey considered. “Maybe by some definitions. But from what I’ve seen Parker made it pretty easy for you to snare him. If you were the alpha here people would want to burn you at the stake. As it is . . . ” He shrugged.

So the omega stereotype was working in his favor for once. Tony could have his handsome nineteen-year-old mentee and the general public wouldn’t boycott his company. Great.

“Comforting. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

*

So, he had to tell Peter. Tony hadn’t been to the lab, as he was convinced he was dying, for four days. But now that he knew that wasn’t the case, Tony was out of excuses for avoiding Peter. 

The kid was already deeply into his work when Tony came in, so absorbed he didn’t see Tony at first. That gave Tony the opportunity to study him. His graceful leanness, the too-good-to-be-true smell. Tony didn’t even feel nauseous. That omega element of his body was totally peaceful at the sight of its sperm donor. Tony grimaced and snatched off his glasses so he could rub his forehead, but the little ache there didn’t subside. Maybe the omega part of Tony was soaking this up, but the rest of Tony was dreading the next five minutes.

“Hey kid,” he called. Best to just get it over with. “We need to talk.”

It was about as painful a monologue as Tony expected. It consisted mostly of looking at the wall beyond Peter’s shocked face while awkwardly paraphrasing Bruce’s post-exam notes relating to viability, and the absence of m-o-dev, the version of an ectopic pregnancy common even in healthier, younger men (seriously, the circumstances were some kind of terrible miracle). Meanwhile Peter got increasingly pale and his scent spiked violently, indicating a racing pulse.

When Tony finished, he cleared his throat, leaned against the table strewn with notes on adhesive bonds, and waited for Peter to have his turn. 

Peter dropped his head into his hands and moaned. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I knocked you up.”

“In your defense, you did ask about protection.” 

Peter looked at Tony through a gap in his fingers. The tips of his ears were red. 

“And then you said if I didn’t start fucking you, you’d have me killed.”

“In _my_ defense, I was too distracted for a more clever one-liner. And I meant it playfully, I’m sure.”

“Playful death threats,” Peter said flatly, but his eyes were bright.

“Exactly!”

“Seemed kinda impersonal. You couldn’t even playfully threaten to kill me yourself?”

“A valid complaint. Stop feeling guilty or I will definitely strangle you with my bare hands.”

Peter’s smile emerged, warm as the sun. It was the hormones, Tony figured, that made his eyes sting at the sight.

“So you’re keeping it,” Peter said tentatively. 

The question shocked Tony more than a little, and his reaction clearly showed on his face because Peter looked instantly chagrined and reached out and seized Tony’s hand.

“I just meant that I would understand,” he hastened to say. His thumb was rubbing Tony’s and he didn’t even seem to notice. “It would be your choice, and I would understand.”

Tony smiled faintly. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But shouldn’t Banner have brought it up? Unprofessional of him not to, really. (_I’m not that kind of doctor! _Banner’s voice supplied in Tony’s subconscious.)

“Yeah, I am,” Tony said eventually. He’d thought about kids before, of course. The omega part of him made sure of that. Plus there were just the ordinary, human yearnings. But they’d always come and gone. Even now, Tony knew that he wouldn’t have _chosen_ for this to happen. 

But it had. And just like the world hadn’t ended when he presented omega and broke his father’s heart, it wouldn’t end because he became a father. Probably. Worst case scenario he could definitely hire several more qualified people to raise the kid for him. The wealthy-American way.

It would all work out fine. 

“If you think on it, I’d be doing the world a disservice by tossing out the little cell-bundle. Even with my genetics watered down by some rando’s sperm, my kid would be a global asset. But a kid that’s half me and half you? I mean, come on.”

To Tony’s horror, Peter burst into tears, and also held Tony’s hand so hard his grip was painful. Seriously, how was someone so lean so _strong_? Peter was the unlikeliest of Toby’s fantasies come to life. Twink aesthetic, but with please-throw-me-around strength. 

“But that doesn’t mean you have to worry about any of this,” Tony said, still staring at Peter’s deceptively slim biceps, though the sleeves of his jacket couldn’t quite hide the telltale curve of the muscle there. “You can, y’know. Be as involved as you want to. Or as uninvolved.”

Peter abruptly let him go like he’d been scalded, stepping back. “I want to be involved!”

“Okay,” Tony said, keeping his face perfectly blank. “Great.”

Peter folded his arms and looked away from Tony, the cheek Tony could still see bright red, as though he’d been slapped. Tony looked down, too.

“Great,” Peter echoed, brittle. “I think maybe I should . . . ” he gestured toward the door.

“Whatever you want,” Tony said lamely, and Peter winced like even that left a mark, then strode out.

*

Tony thought he would send Peter a sonogram picture, or a list of doctor’s appointments, the way a person would in the movies. Movies that would be sad if they weren’t constantly sending all kinds of signals to reassure the viewer that the sadness was just temporary and if they held out there was a happy ending in store. But Tony’s situation didn’t fit the script for at least twenty-six reasons he’d been listing in his head, and so he hadn’t decided how to respect Peter’s declaration of intent to co-parent when he woke up the next morning. 

As it turned out he didn’t have to decide, because Peter was waiting at his breakfast table.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s doing, probably. 

“So,” Peter said firmly. “I shouldn’t have left yesterday.”

There were eggs on the table, which Tony had sworn off. But all his nausea had abated at the first sight and scent of Peter, and he decided to take advantage of it. He hadn’t eaten properly in two days.

However, when he got close enough to lean over the table and inspect the fare there, his nose wrinkled.

“Scrambled eggs are the only breakfast food I know how to make,” Peter explained. “Except, oh!” He snatched a paper towel peppered with moisture off a stack of buttered toast.

Tony said nothing, but he spotted a mug of coffee and zeroed in on it to the exception of all else. But when his hand was halfway to the mug, Peter pulled it out of reach.

The corner of Peter’s mouth tipped upward just a bit. “Sit down and eat, too, or I’ll poison the coffee.” He pushed the mug in Tony’s direction, fragrant steam curling off the surface, like bait. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped me. It’s just the way you take it.” 

“I see what you mean about the death threats,” Tony said, sitting down and pulling the mug close. “They feel less friendly on the receiving end.” He squinted at Peter over the table. “So, if you hadn’t left yesterday, what would we have discussed?”

Peter was obviously trying not to fidget. He was adorable. Tony distracted himself by picking up his fork and prodding the eggs.

“I know you don’t, like, _want_ me,” Peter was saying. “I already knew it was a one-time thing, really. It’s just that yesterday, when you told me about the baby—the pregnancy—for a second I just—my imagination ran away with me. And then I got sort of. Disappointed.”

“Right,” Tony said, when he’d chewed and swallowed. He collected another chunk of egg on his fork and pointed it at Peter. “You know that I don’t want you, why exactly? Is it because of how I shamelessly begged you to fuck me? That was excellent evidence of my disinterest.” 

Peter’s jaw started to drop, but he firmed it up at the last minute and swallowed. “I know you wanted . . . ” he was blushing. (He smelled like heaven.) He had to swallow again and lower his voice before he could continue. “I know that you wanted _it_,” he practically hissed. “I meant that I realize you don’t want to, like . . . Mate me.”

Tony gave up on the food. He’d have to starve a little while longer. The words Peter was saying were ridiculous and had to be stopped.

“You’re the one who shouldn’t be tied down here,” he pointed out. “You’re half my age, for one thing.”

Peter looked cautiously hopeful. “_That’s_ what you think I care about?”

“For another, you’re my employee.”

“Oh, actually no,” Peter said cheerfully.

Tony’s eyes narrowed in a silent _what_?

“My internship was just for the summer. I’ve been just coming in during my free time between classes ever since.” He didn’t seem bothered. “So anyway, that’s not an issue.”

“You’re nineteen years old. You’re not ready to be a father.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “Does that have anything to do with age? Is anyone ever ready?”

Tony gulped his coffee. 

* 

Peter kept coming around. Tony tried not to feel too plaintive when he went away and jerked himself off to the memory of their one fumbling but perfect encounter every night. 

It wasn’t sustainable.

Maybe Tony could have distracted himself under other circumstances. With his work, or with some new, elaborate side project. But the circumstances weren’t normal. His nausea and his hormones disrupted his focus, except for when Peter was around. And when Peter was around he could focus, but only on Peter.

So, really, the fact they went ten days before it happened was a testament to Tony’s resolve.

They were in Tony’s living room, arguing about modified gravity, when Peter, laughing, tumbled onto the sofa next to Tony.

“I feel like you’re not listening to me,” he muttered, still grinning.

“I just know what you’re going to say before you say it,” Tony said with a lazy shrug. “You’re parroting Ethan Siegel.”

“I _am not,_” Peter said, aghast, and twisted onto his hip so their thighs pressed together. “I have my own ideas.”

“I’m aware.”

Peter looked like he’d lost control of his hands, and as a result they were skating over Tony’s waist. Then his wrist brushed the bulge jutting up over Tony’s stomach and froze. “Oh.”

Tony was hard, but he was so used to repressing his arousal around Peter, he almost hadn’t noticed.

“Oh,” Tony agreed, feeling self-conscious. He could blame being an omega, but he tried not to do that, on principle. Also, it was usually bullshit. “I just. You know. You look . . . ” he made a half-gesture with his left hand. “And you smell...”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “I _smell_?” he echoed, sounding almost offended.

Tony nodded, a little dazedly, and put his head to one side so he could smell the warm skin under Peter’s collar more easily. Then his head sagged and he lay his cheek on Peter’s shoulder. He could hear Peter’s heartbeat, thundering like he’d run ten miles, and the way his voice vibrated in his chest when he asked, “Can I . . . ?”

Tony didn’t even know what he meant, exactly, but regardless there was just one answer. “_Yes._”

It turned out that Peter meant dropping to his knees, like Tony’s voice was a physical shove. The long, nimble fingers Tony had fantasized about so often since he’d first seen them at work swiftly unfastened the button and fly of Tony’s jeans. The cool air was a kiss on Tony’s heated skin. He looked down at the thick, parted chestnut hair on Peter’s crown as Peter opened his mouth and took Tony in halfway on the first pass. His mouth was wet and soft like velvet. It didn’t matter that he barely knew what he was doing. 

Peter gagged and Tony blinked, looking down and focusing with difficulty. He had locked his hands around Peter’s head without realizing it. His fingers were buried in that soft hair and he’d instinctively jerked his hips up to fuck into Peter’s mouth. 

Peter wasn’t using his preternatural strength to resist, though. He was gasping and drooling and trying to let Tony do as he liked. It was immeasurably hot, but Tony wasn’t a teenager, no matter how his recent crisis had led him to behave. He gentled his touch on Peter and drew his hips back, so only the head lay on Peter’s tongue. Peter panted, catching his breath. The rapidly-alternating, hot-then-cold currents over the tip of Tony’s dick felt amazing.

Peter was gripping the sides of Tony’s thighs, bruising but not punishing. He pulled back so Tony slipped out, then pressed his cheek up against Tony’s wet shaft, gently raking Tony’s sack with his bottom teeth, mouthing at him. Then he paused and looked up through his eyelashes, mouth red and swollen, saliva and precome smeared carelessly from his jaw to his temple. It was the most beautiful sight Tony could recall.

“I wanna,” Peter breathed, eyes foggy, then he blinked and went on a little more steadily, “bite you, fuck you. God. I’ve never felt like—fuck.” He buried his face against Tony’s thigh. “_Tony_.”

Tony rubbed circles into Peter’s scalp with his right hand and stroked the back of his neck with the left, gentling. “I know, baby. I want you too.”

Tony gave it some thought. The first time had been good, visceral, pinned against something, his legs kicked apart, fast and half-painful, Peter all puppy-alpha-eager behind him. But the idea of letting Peter come again in a position where Tony couldn’t see every second of it was out of the question. 

“Bed. Now.”

Peter shot to his feet, then stared down at Tony and bit his lip. Tony looked down at himself and couldn't really blame the kid. His clothes were askew, dick out and hard and wet.

“Peter,” Tony murmured lowly. “I said _now._”

Peter startled, eyes wide and skin even more heated than before, a wave of scent confirming Tony’s suspicion that Peter liked being bossed around. A lot. Tony smiled to himself as he adjusted his pants and stood up, following Peter across the apartment at a more leisurely pace. He couldn’t help palming himself as he walked. He was only halfway across the living room when Peter slipped through the bedroom door.

“If you still have your pants on when I get in there, I’ll smother you with a pillow.”

“Got it,” Peter called back, laughing, giddy. Tony began to wonder if this was really such a bad idea.

After all, he thought wonderingly when he reached the bedroom and found Peter, such an obedient kid, naked from the waist down and looking at Tony like he was something edible and decadent, it wasn’t like Tony wasn’t rich, brilliant, getting hotter with age and miraculously fertile. Maybe _Peter_ was the lucky one.

*

When Tony was almost asleep, lying flat on his stomach the way he liked best (while he still could) he felt Peter’s smooth, warm palm make a slow circle on his back.

“I could just cut your heart out.”

Tony smiled into his pillow. “Ditto, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write a starker fic, but I would not have predicted it would be a/b/o or mpreg or bottom!tony, at least to kick things off. Nonetheless, here we are. I hope you enjoyed it!


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